


The Long Way Around

by Kurikukun, redundant_angel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Never Met, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Flaming Sword (Good Omens), Blood and Injury, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Daggers, Dark Crowley (Good Omens), Demon Crowley (Good Omens), Did I Mention Angst?, Enemies to Friends, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Drinking, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Pining, Pre-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens), Strong Aziraphale (Good Omens), Swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurikukun/pseuds/Kurikukun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/redundant_angel/pseuds/redundant_angel
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley never meet in Eden and the pair go on through time believing that other is the enemy. With Armageddon quickly approaching, Crowley is sent on an important assignment: to kill the angel and retrieve the flaming sword.Things go sideways, however, when Crowley is severely injured. As Aziraphale naively nurses the demon back to health, Crowley begins to wonder if he'll be able to go through with it after all...Written by redundant_angelIllustrated by kurikukunCreated for the Do It With Style Mini Bang Event!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 190
Collections: Good Omens Mini Bang





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [fenrislorsrai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenrislorsrai/pseuds/fenrislorsrai) for the beta!

_“Love is giving someone the power to destroy you and trusting they won’t use it.”_

-Simon Sinek

* * *

Aziraphale had only been in Eden for a few days when the ‘incident’ happened. The angel was thrilled to be stationed on the front-lines of God’s newest sparkly creation. Even so, he wasn’t entirely sure why She had selected _him_ for the job over any number of other angels; plenty of whom were much more skilled than he with a sword. He’d attended the training sessions, of course, but had missed one or two of them on account of running late. It was difficult to accustom himself to the new twenty-four-hour clock that was to be used on Earth. The sword was heavy, lethally sharp, and if you weren’t careful, the entire sword would burst into flames at any given moment. Aziraphale had never quite got the hang of wielding the blessed thing. Nevertheless, here he was, flaming sword in hand as the newly appointed Guardian of the Eastern Gate. 

The Garden of Eden was filled to the brim with vegetation of every conceivable type. Aziraphale would traverse the entire garden each day, stopping every so often when he discovered a new species of flower or tree. There was also a plethora of fruit in the garden. It was there to feed Eden’s two resident humans, Adam and Eve, but from what Aziraphale could tell there was more than enough to go around. He didn’t feel badly about sampling a few of the delicious variations while completing his daily rounds. By now he’d tasted nearly every fruit in the garden except for one: the apple. The ruby red apples of the garden’s lone apple tree were completely off limits, and it was one of Aziraphale’s duties to make sure that the tree remained untouched. Luckily, Adam and Eve seemed like bright young people and once he’d warned them off it, they’d seemed content to find their food elsewhere.

On the day of the incident, Aziraphale had stopped to pick some fresh fruit from a particularly robust pear tree when he noticed a plume of grey smoke engulfing him. Something was burning! He looked up to find his sword, which he’d left leaning against the trunk of the tree, alight with holy flame. It had burnt a trail right up the trunk of the unfortunate pear tree and fire was quickly spreading to the lowest branches. 

With a cry of shock, Aziraphale leapt to the ground and thinking quickly, used a quick miracle to direct a stream of water from a nearby brook overtop the tree to douse the flames. Wet, and covered head to toe in ash, Aziraphale grabbed the sword and shook it until the flames disappeared. He spared a guilty glance back at the tree. He’d saved most of it, but it would never be the same again. It was then that the angel realized just how careful he needed to be with the sword, and he decided to leave the sword hidden in a safe space instead of bringing it with him on his daily rounds of the garden.

Aziraphale was on one of these rounds when he first noticed the snake. It was curled up tightly on a rock, sleeping peacefully and basking itself in the warm midday sun. He might have missed it entirely had it not been for the effervescent way the sunlight glinted off the snake’s shiny red and black scales. He paused. This was the very first creature he had seen in the garden aside from Adam and Eve, and he was instantly enthralled by its presence. From a distance, the creature looked entirely harmless and Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder just how soft those slick scales might feel against his skin. Curiosity soon got the better of him and he decided to move in closer for a better look.

“Aziraphale.”

The booming voice in his ear scared the angel half-to-death. He turned around to see the archangel Gabriel standing behind him, a tight smile on his broad face. 

“Oh! Gabriel,” Aziraphale stammered, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “What an unexpected surprise! I was just… well, you see-”

“About to get yourself into trouble,” Gabriel interjected.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Trouble?”

Gabriel looked rather impatient, as though Aziraphale was a child who he’d just caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. “It’s not your fault, Aziraphale. But it would be neglectful on my part if I didn’t warn you about the snake.”

“What about it?”

“It’s not what it looks like. It’s a demon.”

Aziraphale glanced over at the sleeping snake. It didn’t _look_ like a demon, he thought, but then again, he wasn’t entirely certain what a demon was supposed to look like. He’d never seen one before. “What does it want?” he asked.

Gabriel shrugged and crossed his arms. “I mean, who can really say? All we know for sure is that it's up to no good. Speaking of which, where is your flaming sword, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he looked about himself nervously. “Well, it’s quite cumbersome to carry around and rather flammable for some reason, so I left it hidden behind a stone in the Eastern wall…” Aziraphale trailed off when he saw the horrified look in Gabriel’s eye.

“Aziraphale, you need to keep that sword with you at all times. Especially now that there’s a demon on the loose in the garden.”

“Right... I’m sorry, Gabriel. It won't happen again.”

Gabriel let out an exasperated sigh. “That sword is endowed with holy flame for a reason: to destroy demons. That’s one of the reasons why the Almighty entrusted you with it. You might want to think about using it to get rid of that _thing_.” He pointed at the snake.

“But… it hasn’t done anything wrong!” Aziraphale objected.

“Not yet, but better to be safe than sorry, am I right?” Gabriel turned to leave, slapping Aziraphale hard on the back. “Keep it up, kid, you’re doing a fantastic job!”

Gabriel was gone as quickly as he’d appeared, leaving Aziraphale standing alone in the garden once again. Feeling frazzled and mildly nauseous, the angel decided to head back to the Eastern Gate. As he turned, he noticed that the snake was no longer sleeping on the rock where it had been only seconds earlier. Aziraphale froze, his eyes darting across the great expanse of forest around him and saw nothing. 

“Wonderful,” he mumbled.

* * *

Meanwhile, Crawly had heard the entire conversation between the two angels and had decided to make himself scarce. He’d been watching the Guardian of the Eastern Gate for a few days now and so far, the angel had seemed quite harmless... but apparently he’d been wrong. It was a shame, because Crawly thought that the angel was the most interesting thing in the entire garden. At least now he knew the angel’s name… _Aziraphale_.

Being stranded in Eden was one of those jobs that nobody wanted, and Crawly was beginning to see why: it was a literal death sentence for demons like him. Not only did he now have an angel with a lethal sword to contend with but Hell had sent him topside without any weapon of his own. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Crawly was clever, creative, and he knew a thing or two about temptation. Still didn’t seem like a fair fight.

 _Thanks for the heads up, guys_ , he thought, irritably, as he slithered his way up a leafy tree branch. Even worse, Crawly had been given very minimal instructions prior to his arrival. ‘Get up there and make some trouble’ was rather vague, as far as orders went. He wasn’t even sure what causing trouble meant. He was a demon. Did that mean anything he did, then, was considered “trouble?” Seeing the angel, the two humans, and himself were the only beings in the garden, there was only so much he could work with.

There was one apple tree in the center of the garden. It was the only apple tree in Eden, as far as Crawly could tell, and the humans were forbidden from eating its fruit. He knew this because he’d seen the angel paying extra attention to the area. Whenever the humans came near it, he’d shoo them away. This gave Crawly an idea. Curiosity had been the seeds of his own undoing, after all, so perhaps curiosity would get the best of the humans as well. All they needed was a little push in the wrong direction.

Once Eve had eaten the apple, she’d gained knowledge of good and evil. It wasn’t long before Adam ate from the tree as well. Having awoken to this knowledge, God apparently decided that they could no longer stay in the peaceful oasis of the garden She had created for them. The job to banish the humans from the garden unfortunately fell on Aziraphale. Crawly slithered to the top of the massive stone wall so that he could watch the proceedings. He had to admit that he felt a little badly about the whole situation. He couldn’t have known how severe the consequences would be, although he might have guessed based on his own past experiences. Even so, the human’s punishment seemed a little extreme, especially considering God had put that tree in the middle of the garden just to tempt them. It hadn’t taken the demon any effort at all to convince Eve to eat from it. Frustrated with himself and the entire situation, Crawly decided to morph into human form. He had no desire to be a snake any longer, or ever again. 

For the first time since arriving on Earth he stood on his own two feet, glistening black wings stretched out behind him. Dark clouds were rolling in across the desert planes as he watched the humans make their way into the unknown. There was a sudden flicker of angelic energy as Aziraphale appeared some distance away, the flaming sword close by his side. The angel turned his piercing blue eyes on Crawly’s new form for the first time and the demon could clearly see tears streaking down Aziraphale’s face.

Crawly froze in place, unsure whether to flee or face Aziraphale’s wrath. After all, the angel must know that he was the reason why the humans had been banished from Eden. It was Crawly's fault for tricking the humans into eating the apple, and his fault that they’d been banished. It was also highly likely that Aziraphale would be punished for failing to protect the humans from demonic harm. 

Aziraphale stared at Crawly for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, the angel lifted one hand and waved.

 _Shit, shit, shit, shit... he knows_ , thought Crawly. He knew he needed to leave the garden and never return. He couldn’t stay in Eden now that Aziraphale knew what he’d done. If the angel wasn’t going to smite him with that damned sword before, he had all the reason to do it now.

As dark clouds rolled in and the first thunderclap echoed across the sky, Crawly stretched his wings and leapt from the wall, searching for someplace to take shelter from the rain.

* * *

  
After leaving Eden, Crawly changed his name to Crowley and did his best to stay as far away from Aziraphale as possible, which wasn’t always easy. For wherever Crowley tried to cause trouble for Hell, Aziraphale would soon show up in the same location to try to fix whatever mess Crowley had caused. That was always Crowley’s cue to move on. Sometimes he would watch Aziraphale from afar, fully aware that his curiosity might get the best of him one of these days. The angel seemed harmless enough and that bloody sword was nowhere to be seen these days, but even so, Crowley never got to close.

Crowley eventually followed Aziraphale to London. He observed as the angel set up shop on a busy street corner in Soho and began amassing the rare books from all over the world. It became apparent that Aziraphale was intent on staying in that one place indefinitely, rather than flitting here and there all over the world, so Crowley obtained his own flat nearby. This made it easy for the demon to keep an eye on Aziraphale, even though that had never really his assignment, but it also began to feel like self-imposed torture.

What had begun as a simple curiosity for Crowley with the angel of Eden had since become a full-blown obsession. It was like having his own personal apple tree in the middle of Eden… something that looked so tempting and yet he was not allowed to touch. It drove him crazy. He wanted so desperately to talk to Aziraphale, the one being who had been on Earth with him since the beginning, but it was impossible. He knew it was a ridiculous thought: a demon and an angel as friends. They could never be friends; they were hereditary enemies. There was only one way this was ever going to end. 

So, Crowley kept his distance, minded his own business, and tried not to think about the angel as best he could manage. He took a lot of his pent-up anxiety out on his plants. He kept over a hundred species in there, from all over the world inside his flat, and they were so terrified of him that they grew more magnificent in captivity than they ever would out in the wild. 

Tending to his plants was precisely what Crowley happened to be doing, one day, when he was interrupted by the sound of someone pounding impatiently on his front door. 

“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested!” he yelled over his shoulder in the direction of the foyer. _How did these salespeople keep getting inside the building?_

“Open up, Crowley. It’s me.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. He recognized the gruff voice immediately. _Hastur_.

Clutching a pair of gardening shears in his hand, Crowley crept over to his front door. He turned the deadbolt and slid the chain lock back just far enough so that he could peak through with one yellow eye. Sure enough, the Duke of Hell was standing outside, glaring back at him contemptuously. “What do you want?” he asked through the crack in the door.

Hastur glared. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

“Do I have to?” asked Crowley.

Hastur laughed. “I could just bust down the door if I wanted. Maybe burn the place to the ground for good measure?”

“Fine.” Crowley unlocked the chain and opened the door for Hastur, all the while keeping a tight grip on the sheers behind his back.

The other demon pushed past him with a grunt and strolled into Crowley’s flat, taking stock of the surroundings. He wandered towards the plant room, eyeing it suspiciously. “What’s all this?”

“I’m allowed to have a hobby.”

“Tempting humans into sin, that’s supposed to be your hobby.” Hastur took a seat on Crowley’s throne and Crowley tried to contain his disgust. “And instead of doing your job, I find out where you’ve been spending most of your time? You’re pathetic, Crowley.”

“I’m pathetic?” Crowley gestured at the ugly mop of a wig that sat askew atop Hastur’s scaly head. “Have you seen yourself?”

“I’m not the one who's wasting my time playing gardener.”

“Can you get to the point, Hastur? There’s a million things I’d rather be doing right now than talking to you.”

“Fine,” Hastur smirked. “You’re being recalled.”

The gardening shears clattered loudly to the floor.

“ _What?_ ” Crowley stammered. “Why?”

Hastur shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Lord Beelzebub. But if you ask me, it probably has something to do with Armageddon.”

Crowley made a face. “Armageddon. Already?”

“The time is almost upon us. Things are picking up. Everything we’ve been working towards for so long will soon be here. Don’t look so upset, Crowley. You should be thrilled.”

“Thrilled, right…” said Crowley. He glanced forlornly at his plant room. Without him here to tend to them, they would surely die. To think that they would all soon be gone was heartbreaking. But with Armageddon on its way, everything that he cared about would be gone anyway, not just the plants. His flat and all the treasures within. His Bentley. Aziraphale...

“They want you back at head office by the end of the day,” Hastur continued, his murky black eyes flashing with menace. With one last contemptuous glance around the room, Hastur disappeared, leaving Crowley standing alone in his flat.


	2. Fate Intervenes

Several hours later, Crowley was riding the escalator down to head office just as he would on any other given day, only this time he couldn’t help but feel a sinking sense of dread. In all his six thousand years on earth, he had never once been “recalled.” He would check in every so often, of course, to keep up appearances and give the odd presentation here or there, but those had almost always been on _his_ terms. This was something he had no control over at all, and the feeling of apprehension wasn’t sitting well.

Were they unhappy with his job performance? Was he being put on desk duty? Would he be forced to stay down below for the rest of eternity? With Armageddon just around the corner, it was possible that he might never see the light of day again. He wouldn’t be able to stomach it.... Crowley was a free spirit: he needed to be out and about with the rest of the world. Tempting humans was his specialty. He would never survive if he were assigned to a desk job... even a temporary one. It would be akin to a prison sentence. 

Crowley found himself thinking of Aziraphale and wishing that he hadn’t been so bloody stubborn for all these years. Why hadn’t he got up the nerve to talk to him before today? Now, he might never get the opportunity to see the angel again. He had briefly considered stopping by Aziraphale’s bookshop on his way over to say goodbye, so long, have a nice doomsday, or what have you. In the end, however, he had decided it was pointless. It was foolish to expect to be greeted by his hereditary enemy with open arms. This was nothing but a long-held fantasy of Crowley's; among many others. It would never play out that way in reality. Sure, he could use his considerable ability at temptation to lull the angel into complacency, at least for a short time, but he knew Aziraphale would eventually catch on to his tricks and turn on him in an instant. 

Crowley stepped off the escalator and made his way down the maze of dimly lit halls until he arrived at the entrance to Beelzebub's throne room. He had always hated this room and today was shaping up to be no different. He could sense the intense scrutiny from several pairs of eyes on him at once as he entered the room, and it made his skin crawl. Crowley was used to an audience whenever he visited Hell: as the sole demon residing permanently up-top, he had always been somewhat of a curiosity to everyone else. Hell was a dull place, and people were literally starved for any kind of entertainment, no matter how mundane. Still, there was something about this particular gathering that made him nervous. 

There were no underlings present; no lower-ranking demons. These were all Lord Beelzebub's highest ranked affiliates. Hastur was there too, leering irritably at him like he always did. The demons watched Crowley with unkind, unblinking eyes as he sauntered down the middle of the floor towards the Prince of Hell, who sat stiffly on their throne. They didn’t expect him to bow, did they? He was in luck because Beelzebub climbed to their feet and paced towards Crowley, stopping him in his tracks. “Demon Crowley,” Beelzebub drawled slowly, their voice vibrating harshly off the concrete walls.

“Lord Beelzebub,” Crowley replied. “Listen, I have a feeling that I know why I’m here, but believe me when I tell you that I can do a lot more damage in the field than I can from down here. There’s no other demon in this room that knows humans the way I do. Keeping me downstairs would be a horrible mistake-”

“Stop." Beelzebub scowled at him. "I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I thought I was being recalled?”

“No. But if you don’t shut up and listen, Crowley, I might reconsider.” 

Crowley fell silent, aside from glaring at Hastur. The duke had lied to him. Of course he’d lied. Hastur was the most untrustworthy demon Crowley had ever had the misfortune of working with. The Prince stepped forward in an effort to command Crowley’s attention despite their small stature, and Crowley met their gaze with sullen subordination.

“Good. Now. What information do you have on the whereaboutzzz of the angel Aziraphale?”

Crowley balked. Even though foiling the angel was technically his job, he’d never been directly asked this question before. His mouth went dry as he realized that he had no intention of telling Beelzebub where to find the angel. “Aziraphale? Um, I mean, I haven’t seen him in years. Years and years. Not since the reign of terror.”

Beelzebub did not look convinced. “Do you take me for a fool? I’ve read your reports, Crowley. How you’ve cleverly been able to avoid detection and still manage to complete all your assignments in a timely manner. You must have some idea where he is?” Crowley must have hesitated for a moment too long, because they swiftly added, “If you lie to me, Crowley, I will do so much worse to you than assign you to desk duty. I’ll throw you into the pits and have you mop the floor with your tongue for the rest of eternity.”

“Yes, alright,” Crowley cringed. “I know he runs a bookshop somewhere in London. He’s harmless really. Not worth worrying about.”

“Harmlezzz?” Beelzebub snarled. “You are aware that he is still in possession the flaming sword?”

Crowley realized his mistake. If Hell was planning some kind of attack on Aziraphale, then he should probably play up the fact that the angel was dangerous, otherwise he was likely to have soon find some unsavory visitors on his doorstep. “I’m sure he still has it with him, obviously.”

Beelzebub nodded. “That sword is the most powerful weapon in existence. With it, the angel will be able to slay an entire battlefield full of demons in mere secondzzz.”

“So I’ve heard,” mumbled Crowley.

“Then you’ll understand why we need that sword back before the war beginzzz.” 

A deafening silence filled the room. 

Crowley swallowed as he processed this information. “You’re going to try to take it from him, then?”

“No,” Beelzebub said, narrowing their eyes. “You are.”

There was an Immediate uproar as the room full of demons began to chatter amongst themselves. 

“Silence!” Beelzebub yelled, and the chattering abruptly stopped.

Crowley wished he could disappear through the floor but they were already in Hell... there was nowhere left to go. He licked his lips. “With all due respect, Lord Beelzebub, the angel isn't going to just hand the sword over. Especially not to me.”

“I don't imagine that he would." Beelzebub snapped their fingers and an ancient-looking dagger materialized in the palm of their hand. The thin blade glowed hotly with incandescent flame. "You’re going to have to kill him first.” 

Crowley’s eyes fell to the dagger and he felt like he was going to be sick. “Are you serious?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“This blade is cursed with hellfire. Cut through the angel with this and It will destroy him completely.” Beelzebub stepped forward and shoved the dagger against Crowley’s chest, forcing him to take hold of it. “Aziraphale is too much of a liability to be left alive. Surely, you realize that once the war izz upon us, that _you_ will be the first demon he goes after. And I’m certain he won’t show you any mercy.” 

Crowley let out a choked laugh. “Oh, that's rich. Where was this dagger when you left me to fend for myself up top in Eden six thousand years ago?”

“We didn’t think you’d need it!” Hastur quipped. “Figured you were crafty enough not to end up on the business end of the angel’s sword.” 

Crowley glowered at Hastur, wanting to punch that arrogant smirk right off his face.

“This task should be an easy one for you, Crowley,” Beelzebub cut in. “After all, you know the angel’s behavior better than any of us. It should be easy enough for you to catch him off guard, lure him in with those temptation skills of yours...”

“And once he’s nice and buttered up, that’s when you get the jump on ‘im,” Hastur added with a grin.

“As much as it pains me to admit it, you’re the best demon for the job, Crowley,” Beelzebub admitted. 

Crowley was trying desperately to keep the horror he felt from showing on his face, but he was losing the battle. “I… I can’t do it,” he mumbled, fully expecting to be thrown into the pits for his insubordination.

“Are you saying that you’re unwilling to follow my orderzzz?”

“Fuck, Crowley, if you ain’t going to do it, then I will.” Hastur moved to swipe the blade out of Crowley’s hands but Crowley reacted with serpentine reflexes and darted out of the way. He couldn’t stomach the idea of Hastur going after Aziraphale. That was not going to be an option. Ever.

“No. That’s not what I’m saying," he sighed. "I’ll do it... It’s just… how am I supposed to get close enough to kill him? He’ll smite me with that sword the second I get anywhere near him.” That was a lie, and Crowley knew it. It was a lie because he knew he could lure Aziraphale in. He knew he could play on the angel’s good nature if he so desired. He knew he could trick Aziraphale into trusting him, even if it was only for a minute. A minute was all it would take.

Beelzebub smirked. “You’re a demon. Figure it out.” 

The room full of demons snickered and laughed at the remark. The Prince of Hell turned began to make their way back towards the throne.

“I want that angel dead, Crowley,” Beelzebub called out over their shoulder. "Do not make me regret my decision.”

“He’s gone soft!” Hastur snarled from over Crowley's shoulder. “He’s lived up top with the humans for too long! He ain’t gonna do it!”

Crowley seethed, his hand tightening around the hilt of the dagger. He stared Hastur dead in the eye. “I said I’ll take care of it.”

“Good,” replied Beelzebub, lips curling into a cold smile as they took their seat on the throne. “And if Crowley fails, you will get your chance, Duke Hastur... I promizzze.”

  
  


* * *

  
A glass bottle smashed loudly against the wall in Crowley's flat; its shards joining the others in a growing pile on the floor below.

“ _Why me?_ ” Crowley hissed, not bothering to lift his head up from the desk where he’d lain for at least the last hour. Empty liquor bottles were strewn all around the demon; his glass tumbler never going unfilled. He’d been drinking solidly for the last three hours at home, and that was only after he’d been kicked out of the bar downstairs below his flat. 

“Why are you doing this to _me_ ?” he groaned. He wasn’t sure who he was talking to. _She_ never listened to him anyway. He’d spent the last six thousand years pining after the angel, and now they expected him to kill him? How could he go through with this? He’d never killed anyone before, for one thing, and for another… For another, he had to admit to himself that he had feelings for the angel. Why else would he care so much? It was ludicrous. 

He knew that angel had orders to kill _him_ ; Crowley had just never allowed Aziraphale to get close enough to try. Besides, Lord Beelzebub was right. If Crowley didn’t get that sword back, Aziraphale surely would use it to kill him the moment the great war started on earth. Even if he somehow managed to survive, losing the war to Heaven wouldn’t bode well for him and his kind. There really wasn’t much to be done now except drink himself into enough of a stupor so he might even have the slightest chance of going through with such a gruesome task. There was a voice in the back of Crowley’s mind that told him he would need to sober up if he had any hope of being successful, but he wasn’t quite ready to deal with those emotions yet. Much better to drink himself into oblivion and pretend that somehow everything was going to be fine, when the truth was that it never would be again.

Some hours later, Crowley managed to drive himself to Aziraphale’s bookshop in Soho. He couldn’t even remember the ride over; it was just a blurry haze in his alcohol-soaked brain. Being a demon, Crowley had used sheer-will power and a whole lot of magic to get himself to get there safely, but driving drunk was not something he would ever normally do... he just wasn’t ready to sober up yet. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever be ready.

With a groan, Crowley forced most of the alcohol from his system, leaving behind just enough to function as liquid courage. After a long moment, he stepped out of the Bentley and onto the busy street. There he stood, in the pouring rain, staring resentfully at the quaint building across the road. The street was teaming with nightlife and humans walked past him in all directions, yet none of them seemed to even notice he was there. It was probably better that way. With a snap of his fingers, the cursed blade materialized in Crowley’s hand. It hummed eerily and glowed menacingly with hellfire. He could feel the weight of the dagger in his fingers, along with the weight of the decision he was about to make. 

Could he do this? Could he really do this? What choice did he have? After all, if he wasn’t the one to kill Aziraphale, Hell would just send someone else to finish the job, and any other demon might want to make the angel suffer slowly. Satan only knew what kinds of depraved things Hastur might do to Aziraphale if he was given the means. No. Crowley wouldn’t allow it. This would be quick, and fast, and over with before the angel had a chance to fight back.

Calling upon his serpentine nature, which was something he had rarely done since Eden, Crowley became hyper-fixated on the task at hand and nothing else. He was the predator and Aziraphale was the prey. Nothing else mattered, and nothing could stop him. With the dagger clutched at his side, Crowley stepped out into the street. He didn’t see the lorry coming around the corner until it was too late. 

* * *

Aziraphale had just bid farewell to his final customer and was closing shop for the evening when he heard a commotion outside. This area in Soho was always teaming with pedestrians, and vehicles were meant to go slow, but there were always drivers who for whatever reason, failed to heed the speed signs. 

The angel hurried onto the street to assess the situation. A small crowd was forming in the middle of the street. There, in the middle of the road, lay the broken, unmoving figure of a man. Aziraphale walked closer to see if he could be of help but halted abruptly when he realized who the unfortunate pedestrian was. 

"Crowley..." he whispered in horror, stepping closer to shield the fallen demon from the gathering crowd of onlookers. "If you wouldn't mind giving him some space..."

Judging by the severity of his injuries, Aziraphalr couldn't be sure if Crowley would survive. There were several obviously broken bones, lacerations, and a particularly deep wound to the demon’s chest. He hesitated, staring down at the demon with dread. If he interfered, he could be severely reprimanded by Gabriel, and besides, if Crowley were to succumb to his wounds, the demon would merely be discorporated. He would likely receive a new body from Hell within short order and would be perfectly fine. 

Or perhaps Hell wasn’t so lenient on their policies around body replacement as Heaven. Aziraphale had only been discorporated once, and it was quite the ordeal. It took months to fill out all the paperwork and he had been severely reprimanded as a result. He could only imagine what fate might become Crowley in Hell should the same thing happen to him. What had Crowley been doing outside the bookshop anyway? Aziraphale wondered if perhaps he had come in the hopes of forming a truce or alliance. He had tried many times over the centuries to reach out to Crowley, but the demon would never let him get close. Maybe this was the opportunity he had been waiting for.

“Please, if you would all move away from here,” Aziraphale repeated himself, more determined this time. No one seemed to be listening. The crowd of onlookers was growing, and a few of them were even taking pictures. 

“Everyone, step back now!” he thundered. That got their attention. The crowd dispersed, and Aziraphale turned his attention back to Crowley. He was just about to lift the demon into his arms when a distraught man approached. It was the driver of the offending vehicle. The man looked to be in shock.

“Is he…?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “He’ll be fine. Just needs a little attention.”

“But… I thought…”

“No harm done,” Aziraphale said calmly to the distressed man. “There is no damage to your vehicle. Everything is perfectly fine. You can be on your way.” 

The man turned back to look at his lorry, which was miraculously in pristine condition. He hesitated, clearly confused, but much to Aziraphale’s relief, he shrugged and walked back to his vehicle. 

“Oh, I do hope I’m doing the right thing,” the angel muttered to himself as he knelt and scooped the demon’s limp and torn body into his arms. He carried Crowley back across the road and into the bookshop, locking the door behind them.

Aziraphale carefully lay Crowley down on an antique sofa in the bookshop. Panic began to rise in the angel’s chest as he looked upon the bloody figure before him. Not only had he brought a demon, albeit a gravely injured one, into his sanctuary, but now said demon was his responsibility. Aziraphale wrung his hands in unease before placing two fingers against Crowley’s neck, checking for a pulse. It was very weak, but it was there. Next, he bent down to check if Crowley was breathing. He wasn’t. Ordinarily this wouldn’t be a problem, except that the demon was currently unconscious and couldn’t regulate his corporation with magic. Aziraphale would need time to focus his energy and attempt to heal Crowley’s extensive wounds, but that wouldn’t be possible if Crowley’s body gave out first. If there was any hope of saving the demon before he discorporated, the breathing situation would need to be remedied first. 

“I won’t tell you that I have little to no idea what I’m doing,” Aziraphale whispered, more to himself than to Crowley. He wasn’t sure if Crowley could hear him in his current state, but the disclaimer made him feel a slight bit better. He tipped Crowley’s chin back to open his airway. He listened. There was still no breath. That left only one thing to be done. Aziraphale had seen humans do this before, and it hadn’t looked overly difficult. 

Taking a deep breath, the angel leaned forward and pressed his lips against Crowley’s.


	3. Touched by an Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [fenrislorsrai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenrislorsrai/pseuds/fenrislorsrai) for the beta!

Crowley awoke with Aziraphale’s lips on his own. The angel was touching him. No, the angel was kissing him! Crowley was certain he was dreaming until the warmth of the angel’s lips on his quickly evaporated; the pleasant sensation replaced instead by searing pain. Nope, not a dream. 

“What are you doing?” he hissed, and Aziraphale staggered back in surprise. Crowley struggled to get up and immediately regretted it, as the movement sent a jolt of agony straight through his entire body. “Fucking hell, angel-”

“Oh, now, just be still,” Aziraphale scolded him as someone might a small child. “You’re only going to make things worse.”

“Worse?” Crowley growled at him. “Worse how!?” 

Aziraphale cautiously approached Crowley again. “You’ve been hurt quite badly, I’m afraid. I’ll do my best to heal your wounds, but there are… quite a number of them.”

Crowley struggled to look down to see what was going on but the pain kicked up into high gear and he despairingly let his head fall back onto the pillow. He was delirious, as though he were in the middle of a thick fog, and he found he couldn’t recall how he’d been hurt, or why he was lying on a sofa like some bloody house guest. He locked eyes with Aziraphale. They’d done this dance before, only this time Crowley wasn’t able to escape. He was trapped inside a failing corporation, bleeding out on an angel’s couch in a cluttered old bookshop. _Lovely._

“Did you…?” he managed weakly.

Aziraphale blinked. “Did I what?”

Crowley waved a hand weakly at himself and grimaced. It hurt to even do that much.

Aziraphale scoffed at him, seemingly offended at the insinuation. “Really, Crowley. You think I would do this to you, then turn around and offer to help?”

Crowley stared at him in disbelief. “You… know my name?”

“Of course I know your name,” Aziraphale huffed. “We’ve only been on this earth together for six thousand years!”

“No… not just my name in the Garden. You called me 'Crowley'.”

“Well, what kind of angel would I be if I didn’t know everything there was to know about my hereditary enemy?" Aziraphale chided. "And I’ll be quite put out if I find you don’t also know my own."

Crowley glowered at him. “Aziraphale,” he whispered weakly.

A smile ghosted across the angel’s lips. With a wave of his hand, he miracled up a clean cloth and proceeded to press it firmly against the wound on Crowley’s chest.

“Ahhh! Angel. Fuck! Are you trying to kill me?” Crowley roared, trying to push him back.

Aziraphale tutted at him but did not move his hand away. “Don’t be ridiculous, Crowley. Besides, you’ve done quite a bang-up job of that yourself. I’m only trying to slow the bleeding.”

“Myself?” Crowley stammered.

“You don’t remember?”

“No!” he growled, more sharply than intended. “I… I can’t.” He drew in a shaky breath and tried to regain his senses. Crowley had been injured before, but never this badly. Not in six thousand years. He’d been through countless battles, wars, and uprisings, but he’d always been so careful. He couldn’t fathom how this had happened to him.

Aziraphale’s expression softened with concern. “When I found you, you were lying on the street outside my shop. It seems you had been struck by a moving vehicle.”

"What?" That didn’t make a lick of sense, thought Crowley. He was a demon with impeccable spatial awareness. That innate skill was what allowed him to drive down ninety miles an hour in central London during rush hour without hitting anything, or anyone. He could practically do it in his sleep with eyes closed, not that he’d tested that theory. To have been so clumsy to be hit by a car; it was a difficult pill to swallow.

“Do you at least recall why you might have been outside my shop?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley hesitated. He couldn’t remember that part either, but he had his suspicions. Knowing him, it really wasn’t so far fetched that he'd been in the area. He never strayed far from the angel. On the contrary, he’d been drawn towards Aziraphale since the beginning of time, and undoubtedly, being a demon, his obsession with the angel was probably his greatest flaw. Following Aziraphale around certainly wasn’t an act of self-preservation; if anything, it was a shade off from recklessness. In fact, had he known all it took was nearly dying to find himself this close to Aziraphale, he would have done it years ago. 

“No,” he replied simply. “Can’t recall.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Oh, well, no matter. I’m sure once you’ve healed enough, your memory will return.” He peeked at the cloth he was holding against Crowley’s wound and found that it was nearly fully saturated with blood. “Oh dear,” he mumbled. “This looks quite bad.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “You don’t say.”

“Crowley, I’m going to need you to take off your shirt.”

Crowley let out a wheezing laugh and he immediately wished he hadn’t as it sent a sharp pain shooting up through his rib cage. “I bet you say that to all the demons.” 

“Really, Crowley, I don’t know how you can find this humorous,” Aziraphale scolded, but Crowley saw a faint smile float to the surface before vanishing. “If we don’t stop the bleeding, you won't be strong enough for me to heal you. You’ll likely discorporate.”

“Alright, alright.” Crowley lifted a hand to snap his fingers. “You’re not going to ask me to take off my trousers too, are you?”

“One thing at a time.” Aziraphale said. “Allow me. You need to save your energy.” He waved a hand and Crowley’s shirt disappeared somewhere into the ether. 

_Well, alright then._ Crowley cautiously stole a glance down at his abdomen. There was a three-inch-long shard of glass sticking out of a gash near his ribs, and it was bleeding profusely, dripping down all over Aziraphale’s antique sofa and onto the carpet. “Fuck me,” he said dizzily.

Aziraphale didn't seem phased by the mess but his brow furrowed as he surveyed the damage to Crowley’s chest. “I’m afraid removing this piece of glass will likely make the situation worse.” He miracled up a new cloth and pressed the replacement to the edges of Crowley’s wound. “Here, hold this tightly will you?"

“Wait, where are you going?”

“We’ll need to slow the bleeding before I can attempt any magic, or else I’m afraid you won’t survive the process.” 

“Angel-”

“It’s been awhile since I was a healer on the battlefield but I still remember a few things." The angel wandered off towards the back of his shop. "Now, the real question is, where did I put that first aid kit? I don’t think I’ve needed it since the Second World War...” 

Crowley sighed. “Great. You go take a look for that. I’ll just be here. Dying.” He shut his eyes and sank backwards into the deep cushions. 

“Not to worry, I’m sure it’s somewhere around here,” he heard Aziraphale saying from afar. It sounded like the angel was in a distant tunnel. The room was turning dark and he suddenly felt very cold. Crowley knew this was not a good sign.

“You know what? Never mind,” he grumbled weakly, more to himself than to Aziraphale. “I’m going to heal myself.” 

He had his dignity to worry about, after all... or at least what was left of it. He was not about to lie here and play guinea pig to a fussy angel’s attempts at performing first aid. Crowley shut his eyes and groaned as he tried to harness enough power to start the healing process, but he was so weak that he found he couldn’t focus. Demons weren’t known for their healing capabilities in the first place and Crowley was quickly realizing the energy required for such a massive task would take a great deal more than he had left to spare. 

“What are you doing, Crowley?"

Aziraphale had reappeared at his side. The angel rested the back of his hand against Crowley’s forehead to check his temperature but he lingered longer than necessary, brushing aside a fallen lock of hair from the demon’s eyes. Crowley was too weak to protest even if he’d wanted to, but the truth was that he was more than happy at the feeling of Aziraphale’s warm soft skin against his own.

“You have an angel at your services,” Aziraphale told him. “It would be much wiser, and likely faster, to let me help you.”

Crowley scowled. “Well, then will you get on with it? By the looks of all this blood, I don’t have much time left. If you don’t do something fast I’m betting this conversation is going to be over pretty quick.”

“Very well, if you insist,” Aziraphale said, as he leaned forward, his hands hovering over the wound. “But, fair warning. This might hurt quite a bit...”

“It already hurts, angel!” Crowley snapped, the pain worsening with every movement. He couldn't help it. 

Aziraphale paused, his opaque blue eyes fixed on Crowley’s wide amber irises. "If this doesn't work…"

"It’s fine, angel."

Aziraphale nodded. He took a calming breath and closed his eyes, biting on his lower lip in concentration. 

Crowley watched as a warm golden glow began to radiate out from his fingertips, travelling up his arms until it enveloped the angel’s entire body. The light grew brighter still until Crowley found he could no longer look at it. He felt a strange sensation at the site of the wound. It began as a slight itch but quickly grew into blinding hot agony. He could feel the shard of glass slipping out from the wound like it was being sucked away, and he could feel the edges of his flesh beginning to knit themselves together, as though they’d never been torn apart. 

If the demon was in pain before, this was nearly ten times worse. His entire body felt like it was on fire, burning from the inside out. An angel’s ethereal magic was never meant to be used on the likes of him. He clenched his teeth and suffered through it until at last the pain began to ease and melt away.

“There… much better,” said Aziraphale, seemingly pleased with the results. "Are you alright?"

“That fucking hurt like hell,” Crowley whined, his voice broken and hollow.

“I did warn you.”

“Well, why didn’t you warn me it was going to be _that_ bad?”

“I didn’t know,” Aziraphale lamented. “I’ve never tried to heal a demon before.”

Crowley groaned miserably. He still felt weak and his head was pounding. His shoulder was still aching, and as for his legs… he could barely feel those. 

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, dear?”

Crowley swallowed. Had Aziraphale just referred to him as “dear”? He would need to process that one later. “Uh, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I think you missed a spot.”

“Hmm?”

Crowley motioned towards his legs. “Something’s not quite right."

“Ah,” Aziraphale said knowingly. “I’m not quite finished yet.”

“Arrggh!” Crowley growled. “You mean I'll have to go through that all over again?”

“Just keep still, please. I’m going to try to fix these fractures.”

Crowley whimpered but did as he was told. Aziraphale held his hands up and closed his eyes once again as he concentrated on healing the broken bones. Seconds later the blinding pain was back with a vengeance. Crowley moaned and gritted his teeth at the unsettling sensation of several things that were not in the right place sliding back together. He briefly wondered if this was worth the trouble. Might have been easier just to let himself discorporate and start over with a new body, but it would mean his first meaningful interaction with the angel would be over.

“Shhh… it’s okay, my dear,” Aziraphale was whispering soothingly, his fingers gently caressing Crowley’s hair. “It will be alright. You’ll be alright.” 

They were just words, but they were spoken so softly and so lovingly that Crowley found himself nearly in tears. It was almost embarrassing. No one had ever spoken to him like this before. No one had ever been this gentle or this caring. The burning pain gradually began to fade and was replaced by a pleasant tingling sensation. Aziraphale slowly rose to his feet and looked down at Crowley with relief. 

“All better?”

Crowley needed a moment. The pain was gone and he felt like he was floating on air. He glanced up at Aziraphale. “Seems like it,” he replied. “I suppose I should say thank you...”

Aziraphale sighed. “Probably best not to. I don’t know about you, but I will surely be in a lot of trouble with management when they find out for whom I used a very significant miracle. I’m not yet sure how I’m going to explain this to Gabriel.”

Crowley knew Aziraphale was right. For as grateful as he was that the angel had helped him, it was going to put them both in a lot of jeopardy, Aziraphale especially. He needed to get out of here before someone noticed. He began to climb to his feet.

“Now, now, dear, I insist that you stay here overnight and rest until you’re feeling better. I’ve healed all of your wounds but it will likely take several hours before you fully recover. You shouldn’t venture out in your weakened condition.” 

“Aziraphale-”

“This is not up for discussion, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said firmly. Crowley found he didn’t have it in himself to argue any further, so he sank back down against the soft cushions.

Aziraphale smiled and Crowley felt his heart do a little tumble in his chest. As a demon, he never expected such kindness from an angel, and he certainly didn’t deserve it. Not after what he did in Eden. In fact, he wasn’t fully convinced that all of this wasn’t some kind of dream he was about to wake up from at any moment. 

“I’ll put the kettle on and get you a blanket,” Aziraphale said, and he was gone before Crowley could protest. 

The demon laid back and tried to remember the events leading up to his accident. Something was tugging at his mind, distant and hollow like an echo, but he couldn’t quite make sense of it. He closed his eyes and thought back to the last thing he could remember. He'd been standing outside Aziraphale's shop, and he'd been holding something important in his hand, but he couldn't remember what. He racked his brain for answers and found none.

Aziraphale returned at that moment with a warm tartan blanket, a hot mug of tea and a few biscuits. “Here you go, my dear. Have a sip of this and you’ll be feeling better in no time.”

Crowley sat up gingerly and accepted the tea and the blanket. Aziraphale watched him curiously. “Shall I miracle you up some new clothes?” he asked. “I might have a thing or two upstairs you could borrow, though you might my style isn’t to your liking-” 

“What?” Crowley stammered, remembering he was still naked from the waist up. “No, it’s fine. I’ll conjure something up later.”

Aziraphale nodded. “As you wish, Crowley.” He picked up an overturned novel which had been sitting on a nearby desk and started up the spiral staircase.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t sleep,” Aziraphale admitted with a weary smile. “Never really got in the habit. I’m sure you don’t want me staring at you all night while you’re trying to rest?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind if you stayed. You know, just in case something were to happen?”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows perked up. “Something such as?”

Crowley shrugged. He didn’t really have a reason other than he didn’t want Aziraphale to go. “Dunno,” he said. “Might try to sleep-walk into traffic, that sort of thing?”

Aziraphale didn’t look convinced, but he nodded and turned on his heel. “Well, we shan’t have that happen, shall we. Not after all my hard work tonight.” The angel took a seat in a nearby armchair, switched on a lamp, and settled in with his novel in his lap. “Goodnight, Crowley.”

“Goodnight, angel,” Crowley mumbled. 

He fell asleep that way, snuggled underneath a warm blanket, a hot cup of tea nearby, and the angel reading a book just a few feet away. It was as though it were the most natural thing in the world; like it something they would have done on any given day of the week. At some point during the night, Crowley began to dream. 

It started off innocently enough. He was back in the Garden, with Aziraphale, except this time, they were friends, happily enjoying each other’s company; laughing and playing within a deep sea of green leaves and colorful flowers. Everything was going well until dark clouds began to drift in from the desert, washing over the Garden, obstructing the sun and plunging their world into darkness. 

Crowley looked down to find he was holding an apple in one hand. It was glossy and red, almost sickeningly so; it’s shape was more perfect than any piece of fruit in nature could possibly be.

“Is that for me?”

Aziraphale was staring at him expectantly. He reached forward to claim the apple and Crowley did nothing to stop him. He just stood there, even with the realization sinking in that the apple was poisoned. He knew this, and yet when he opened his mouth to warn Aziraphale, no sound came out. 

_Don’t eat that!_ Crowley screamed silently in his mind, but Aziraphale couldn’t hear him. He tried to reach out to stop Aziraphale, but he no longer had arms to do so. He was a snake again; small and underfoot, watching helplessly as the angel took a generous bite from the poisoned apple; its sickly sweet juices running down his chin.

 _Aziraphale!_ He cried the angel’s name in vain over and over but Aziraphale could not hear him. It was too late; the poison had taken effect. The angel crumpled to the ground in front of him, his empty eyes staring right at Crowley, and Crowley was jerked roughly into consciousness. 

Crowley bolted upright, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, a tartan blanket lying bereft by his feet. He sucked in a shaky breath as the dread washed over him in waves, for he not only remembered where he was, and how the angel had so naively nursed him back to health. 

He remembered everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Twist of Fate

The gravity of the situation hit Crowley all at once and it punched the air right out of his lungs. He had messed up, badly. And to complicate things further, Aziraphale, the angel he was supposed to _kill_ , had gone ahead and saved him from a very inconvenient discorporation. If going after Aziraphale had felt wrong before, doing it now, after he'd shown Crowley such kindness, seemed downright cruel. 

The chair where Aziraphale had been perched when Crowley fell asleep sat empty, and the only noise he could hear was the sound of his own heart hammering away in his chest. It was then that he noticed the dull ache near his ribs and he grimaced, smoothing his fingers over his skin where a faint scar remained, healed nearly to the point of being nonexistent. Aside from that, Crowley felt fine; more than fine, actually. He felt invigorated. Aziraphale’s magic had certainly done its job. With a snap of his fingers, Crowley conjured himself a new shirt and another pair of sunglasses, since his last pair were nowhere to be found. There was still time to salvage this mess, he just needed time to think. That’s when he noticed something else was missing: the dagger. 

_"Shit_ , _shit,_ _shit,_ " he hissed under his breath. In a panic, Crowley scrambled to his feet and began frantically searching through his clothing. If he'd dropped it on the ground outside he'd surely never find it again. Some human would undoubtedly have picked it up and taken it home by now. 

“Ah, you’re awake!” 

Aziraphale waltzed into the room with a tray of pastries and a tea set, which he lay on the coffee table between them. “How are you feeling this morning, Crowley? You certainly look a fair bit better than you did last night.”

Crowley licked his lips nervously. “I'm fine.”

Aziraphale smiled and the corner of his blue eyes crinkled kindly. “Glad to hear it. I took the liberty of preparing you some breakfast, I hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t sure what you like to eat so I made a bit of everything! There are some cheese and onion scones, freshly baked apple strudel, and- ” 

“Coffee,” Crowley interrupted. “Black.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Very well. Coming right up.” 

Crowley suppressed a groan. Why did the angel have to be so blessedly nice to him! It was infuriating. 

Aziraphale poured a generous amount of coffee into a white mug and handed it to Crowley, who accepted it with obvious trepidation. 

“I promise you my dear," the angel said with a slight hint of amusement, "it’s just coffee, brewed with regular tap water.”

Crowley glared at him. “Why did you help me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Crowley lifted his shirt and motioned towards the scar. “Why didn’t you just let me die? I’m a demon. You’re an angel. Aren’t you meant to smite my kind on sight?”

Aziraphale cocked his head thoughtfully. “Meant to, yes. But then, I’ve never been a particularly good angel.”

Crowley bit his tongue to save himself from making some half-arsed witty remark. He wasn’t a particularly good demon either, but he wasn’t about to tell Aziraphale that. The angel finished pouring himself a cup of tea and settled across from Crowley at his desk. 

“Anyway, it’s not for lack of opportunity, Crowley, believe me. I’ve come across you plenty of times over the centuries.”

“Right, I just can’t help but wonder why you never _tried_. You have the flaming sword and all the holy water in the world at your disposal…" He paused to see if Aziraphale might take the bait and admit that he either no longer had the sword in his charge (best case scenario), or if he might reveal where it was. When Aziraphale didn't reply, he added, "You know, especially after I tempted Eve into eating the apple..."

Aziraphale leaned over to pick up a scone. “You were only doing your job, Crowley, as I was doing mine. I can’t fault you for that." They locked eyes. "Besides, I could ask you the same question. You have never once tried to do me any harm over the years. Being a demon, wouldn’t that be in your job description?”

Crowley sank into the sofa, wishing he could sink even further into the floor. “It never came up,” he said, hiding behind his cup of coffee. 

Aziraphale sipped at his tea. “Anyway, it was rather nice just to know that you were around, and that I wasn’t completely, well… alone.”

Crowley’s heart dropped into his stomach. He had never known; could never have _imagined_ that for all these years that the angel felt the same way as him. If only he had known Aziraphale was as lonely as he was… how different could these last centuries have been?

“As a matter of fact,” the angel continued in a hushed voice, “I was rather chuffed when you showed up last night, even if it was in a rather unconventional way.”

Crowley nearly inhaled his coffee. “You were?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Well, yes, until I realized what you were doing here.”

Crowley froze. His mouth went completely dry. “You… knew?”

“I believe I’ve figured it out,” Aziraphale said, frowning. "Armageddon.”

“Right…” Crowley mumbled.

“It must be on its way? I think I have the exact date written down somewhere around here..." The angel got up and started searching through a stack of manuscripts. “I must admit I’ve been worrying about it. I mean, I realize that _when_ my side wins the war, everything after that will be rather lovely, but even so, there are things here on Earth that I would miss dearly.”

Crowley folded his arms across his chest. “Uh huh. And how do you know that your side is going to win?”

The look on Aziraphale’s face spoke volumes. Clearly, losing the war was not a possibility he’d even considered. “Good always triumphs over evil, naturally, of course," he said, matter-of-factly.

“If that’s what you think, why even bother talking to me about it?”

Aziraphale's cheeks reddened slightly. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I was hoping that there might be a way to… oh, I don’t know, delay it a little bit, if not stop it entirely? You see, I have a great deal more books to read and restaurants to explore. I just don’t think there will be enough time to finish everything I want to do if the world ends in twelve years."

“I don’t want it to end either,” Crowley said softly. 

A loud buzzing noise cut through the silence that had fallen between them and Crowley nearly jumped out of his skin. 

"That must be yours," Aziraphale said. "I don't have a mobile phone."

"Lucky you," Crowley grumbled, pulling his phone free. He saw a text message on the screen from an impossible number. 

It read simply: **You’ve failed.**

Crowley swallowed thickly. _Fuck_. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse. 

“Uh, I’ll be right back,” he said, and rushed away before the angel could say another word. He stepped out of the shop and rounded the corner. The sun was just rising, and the sky had cracked open into a supernatural red hue, heralding another oncoming storm. Crowley’s hands trembled as he dialed the number back and waited for someone to pick up on the other end. 

_“Speak.”_

“Lord Beelzebub, I can explain-”

_“The dagger I gave you – it has reappeared in Hell. Can you explain that?”_

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. Well at least he hadn't lost the damned thing entirely. “I had a minor setback, that's all."

_"I'm quickly running out of patience, Crowley. If I don't see you back here in one hour with that angel dead and the sword in your hand, I'm sending Hastur after both of you."_

There was a flicker of demonic energy and Crowley sucked in a breath as the missing dagger rematerialized in the palm of his hand.

_“This is your lazzzt chance, Crowley.”_

The line disconnected. Crowley collapsed against the side of the bookshop. He stared at the dagger in his hand. He was back at square one except now he was losing his resolve. It felt like the world was closing in on him, squeezing all the air from his lungs and suffocating him in a relentless grip. He looked across the street at his precious Bentley; a myriad of parking tickets on the windscreen; and considered running away. driving off and never looking back. To have things with Aziraphale end this way just as they were getting closer seemed like such an awful waste. But what choice did he have? This was the way of the world. Demons versus Angels, the light versus the dark, the righteous versus the unholy. Only one side could prevail, and he had better hope it was his side that was victorious or his future was going to be very bleak indeed.

After a very long time, Crowley sauntered back into the Aziraphale's bookshop and shut the door, twisting the lock behind him. He crept silently across the floor until he reached the front desk, where an antique cash register sat amongst a cluttered pile of old books. Aziraphale was still rifling through some papers on his desk and the distraction seemed as solid of an opportunity as Crowley was going to get. 

Lightening fast, he stuck, grabbing Aziraphale by the lapels and pinning him roughly against the his desk. Aziraphale, caught like a small animal in the coils of a snake, barely managed to squeak out a cry. 

“Where is it?” Crowley demanded.

Aziraphale’s lips parted in surprise and he glanced uneasily at the weapon in Crowley’s hand. "W- where's _what_?" 

The demon took a menacing step forward until his nose was nearly touching Aziraphale’s. "The sword. Where is it?"

The fear in his deep blue eyes was palpable. "It’s hidden away, for safekeeping."

“Summon it." Crowley said, nodding towards the coffee table. "Over there.”

It was a calculated risk, allowing the angel to summon his weapon. There wasn’t enough time to search Aziraphale’s extensively cluttered bookshop for something that was likely hidden away beneath multiple angelic wards, and besides, Crowley hoped Aziraphale’s misguided good nature would keep the angel from using the sword against him. 

Aziraphale hesitated. 

Crowley drew his lips back and bared his fangs. He pushed the dagger against Aziraphale’s neck, and the heat of hellfire and began to singe Aziraphale’s skin. "Now, angel," he snarled.

The intimidation tactic seemed to produce the desired effect. With a shaky breath, the angel shut his eyes and concentrated. A heavy sword materialized in the air above the coffee table, then dropped with a loud crack. Scones and apple strudel went flying. 

Crowley spared the divine weapon a quick glance, but did not ease the dagger away from Aziraphale’s throat. 

“So was this your plan all along?” Aziraphale demanded, his voice cold and accusatory. 

“To steal from me?” 

Crowley set his jaw, clenching his teeth so hard they nearly broke. "I never wanted to hurt you."

There were tears in Aziraphale’s eyes. "Then don't."

The betrayal in those eyes shattered his heart into a million pieces. It almost broke him. Instead, Crowley pushed the part of himself that cared for Aziraphale underwater and forced it down to drown it.

He did not back down. His fingers tightened around the angel’s lapels, the dagger smoldering impatiently as the blade pressed in against the angel’s neck.

“Oh. I see,” Aziraphale whispered sadly, finally realizing the stark reality that Crowley was here to kill him. 

“S’nothing personal, angel. Just doing my job. You understand.”

“Well, better get on with it then,” he said coldly. “Wouldn’t want to keep you here any longer than I already have.”

Crowley thought Aziraphale might close his eyes or turn away. He didn’t. He just stood there, watching him with a sense of calm and acceptance that Crowley couldn’t begin to understand. That was the moment his resolve broke. 

A wounded growl emerged from the depths of Crowley’s throat and stumbled back, releasing Aziraphale from his grip; the cursed blade clattering to the floor. The luminescent glow of hellfire flickered momentarily, then went out. Crowley fell to his knees in front of the angel.

“I can’t do it,” Crowley moaned over broken sobs, making no effort to hide the tears that were welling up in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. “They wanted you dead and they wanted me to do it, but I just can't. I don't even know why I thought I could! Not after all this time. Not after last night." The words were pouring out of him in a flood and he couldn’t stop them. He was about to lose everything so it hardly mattered now. 

“Aziraphale, I’m sorry,” Crowley whispered, even though he knew those words could never be enough.

Aziraphale didn't move. He didn't speak.

Crowley could feel the scrutiny in those devastating blue eyes as they watched him wallowing on the floor in self-pity and he knew he deserved it. He deserved so much worse. He’d betrayed Aziraphale and now he’d disobeyed Hell. He’d ruined everything and his own life was forfeit. 

Wordlessly, Aziraphale snapped his fingers and a whoosh of heat collided against Crowley’s cool skin. The demon flinched, and even though he was terrified, he felt compelled to look up.

The sword was back in Aziraphale’s hands. White-hot flames licked across the iron blade, engulfing its surface from hilt to deadly point. Crowley stared at it, spellbound. He hadn’t seen the flaming sword in action since Eden. This was a weapon that Aziraphale had kept with him since the dawn of time; a weapon which was created for one reason: to kill demons. To kill him. 

Aziraphale's expression was a mix of sadness and indecisiveness; his mouth was pulled into a thin line of anguish as he grappled with what needed to be done. Perhaps, Crowley thought, he and Aziraphale weren't so different from one another after all. 

“Go on, angel, do it." Crowley hissed, wanting to absolve Aziraphale of any guilt. "I won't stop you."

Aziraphale's grip tightened on the sword's hilt, and Crowley, who was not nearly as brave as Aziraphale, shut his eyes and held his breath, waiting for oblivion. 

It never came. Instead, he heard the gentle clatter of iron on a wooden floor.

“Get up.”

Crowley opened his eyes. The sword lay at his feet, its flames extinguished. “What?”

“I’m not going to kill you. Get up." Aziraphale repeated firmly.

Crowley glanced at the sword, before meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. "I...don't understand."

“You had your chance to kill me and you didn’t take it. I would say we're even now, wouldn't you?” Aziraphale sighed as he straightened his bow-tie. “Besides, it seems like an awful shame to kill one another when we both want the same thing... perhaps we can find a way to work together instead?”

Crowley couldn’t find words. He stumbled onto unsteady feet that almost couldn't hold him up. “I want that too. But if I don’t take this sword back to Hell, I’m as good as dead.”

“Then take it.”

“What?”

“Take it with you and tell your superiors that I am no longer a threat.”

“I don’t think that will be good enough for them.” Crowley said. "They want you out of the picture, and if I'm not the one to do it, they'll send another."

There was a smug look on the angel's face now, as though he knew something Crowley didn't. “My dear, if you are the one wielding the sword, then you have the power to kill any demon. I feel like that might give you a bit of a sway down there, wouldn't you agree?”

Crowley’s brain took a moment to catch up with what Aziraphale was saying. With that sword, Beelzebub would have to listen to him, instead of the other way around. "You're going to give me the sword, just like that?"

"Well, I expect you to bring it back to me when you're finished with it, of course," said Aziraphale.

"I can do that," Crowley said. He picked the sword up gingerly off the floor and dusted it off. "Um… listen Aziraphale… I know you don't want to hear this, but thank you. After everything I've done, I never thought you'd give me another chance."

“Well, I think we’ve already established that I'm not a very good angel," Aziraphale replied with a smile that Crowley was eternally grateful for.

Crowley let out a broken laugh as he wiped away the last of his tears.

“Just be careful,” Aziraphale warned him as he headed for the door. “It tends to catch on fire if you’re not careful.”

* * *

It was dinner time by the time Aziraphale managed to kick the final pesky customer out of his shop. He'd left the bookshop open longer than he usually would, as he was hoping to see a certain demon make his way back. Aziraphale had waited all afternoon for Crowley to return, as he said he would, and he was beginning to wonder if he hadn't made a mistake. 

Hell could do nothing with the flaming sword… it would be useless to them. However, the amount of trouble Aziraphale would be in once Heaven found out he'd lost it would be nothing compared to how they would react if they found out he gave it away to a demon. He was just about to lock the front door when Crowley appeared in the doorway, the sword in hand. He looked a little worse for wear, his hair was disheveled and his shirt was torn, but the exhilarated look on his face told Aziraphale everything he needed to know. 

"Sorry I'm late," the demon said. "I might have had more fun telling Beez off than I thought I would."

"It worked?"

"Yep. I told them I wanted my old job back but I was keeping the sword. I've never seen so many demons scatter out of there like rats."

"You'd better take this back before I accidently incinerate myself,” Crowley said. He offered Aziraphale the sword, and whatever had happened between them in the last twenty-four hours was immediately forgiven. 

“I’m glad you came back, Crowley."

“Were you worried I wouldn’t?”

“No,” Aziraphale replied. “Perhaps for a minute.”

Crowley grinned. “Well, what do you say? Do you want to work together and see what we can do about delaying the inevitable?”

Aziraphale reached out and they shook hands for the first time. “Let's do it.”  
  
  
  



End file.
